The Demons in the Dark
by an-alternate-world
Summary: Blaine's nightmares are always out of control at this time of year. There's only one person he would want to seek shelter with when he's filled with this much terror.


**Title: **The Demons in the Dark  
><strong>Author: <strong>an-alternate-world  
><strong>Rating:<strong> T  
><strong>CharactersPairing: **Blaine Anderson/Sebastian Smythe  
><strong>Word Count: <strong>3,165  
><strong>Summary:<strong> Blaine's nightmares are always out of control at this time of year. There's only one person he would want to seek shelter with when he's filled with this much terror.  
><strong>WarningsSpoilers:** Recollection of violent scenes.  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> I am in no way associated with Glee, FOX, Ryan Murphy or anything else related to the FOX universe.

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><p>Amy (sophisticatedloserchick) prompted: <em>Dalton!AU. Blaine wakes up from a terrifying nightmare. He is unable to stay still and get back to bed in order to sleep. He decides to calm himself down by going to visit Sebastian in his dorm room. Even though Sebastian is extremely tired from a long day he does his best to stay awake for Blaine. In the end they fall asleep cuddling.<em>

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><p>It's felt like he's been struggling for hours, held down by a force he's too weak to fight against. He's tried kicking away skin, tried squinting at faces, tried shielding his head, but all he's been able to ascertain is that the faces above him are indistinct, fuzzy blurs with vaguely formed bodies. They look like lumpy figures moulded from plasticine with the strength of steel rods for bones. He hasn't been able to recognise visually and the words don't carry enough for him to recognise them aurally, but he doesn't need his sight or sound to give him the information he has been instinctively craving.<p>

It comes to him, so utterly easily and abruptly, that he's disappointed at how long it takes him to recognise them because of what they do physically.

He recognises the way they stand tall and upright, towering over his small and frightened body. He recognises the places they target to inflict blow after blow upon his body. He recognises the sounds of his bones cracking and snapping like twigs in the forest during Fall. He recognises the searing agony that radiates all over his body as he struggles to defend himself with shattered limbs. He recognises the screams that flee his throat and the pleading whimpers as he begs for his life. He recognises the gasped breaths because it hurts too much to inhale deeply. He recognises the sticky feeling of his cheeks being stained with tears and his clothes clinging to his skin because of the blood that spills from his veins. He recognises the reflective shine as lights catch pipes. He recognises the pale laces on dark shoes. He recognises the stench of the dumpster. He recognises the distant thump of music encased by four walls and windows.

He recognises the parking lot of his middle school on the night of the Sadie Hawkins dance.

His heart pounds in his chest, his screams of pain and desperation strangled when another hit comes down on his ribs and there's a resounding crack which floods him with more pain. He can taste the blood in his throat and just when he's certain he'll never escape, he'll never survive, he'll never be found, he'll never be saved, he'll never live…

He wakes up.

His pyjamas are soaked with sweat and cling to his skin. His breathing is short, sharp, shallow as it bursts past his lips. His sheets are tangled around his legs and confine his restless movements. His heart is hammering too hard, too loud, with an unsteadily fast rhythm that rattles against his ribcage. His hands are shak– scratch that, his entire body is _shaking_ and without much conscious thought, he immediately lurches from the bed to put as much distance between himself and the place that terrifies him for a fortnight every year in late October through to early November. It doesn't matter that it's been four years since the attack. It doesn't matter that the perpetrators were found and jailed. It doesn't matter that he endured a year of therapy and rehabilitation. It doesn't matter because he relives it all and it starts to put his teeth on edge as he gets tired and jumpy, flinching at shadows and darting away from the touches of others. He starts to lose trust in himself as well as anyone around him, eyeing them carefully in case they pose a threat to his life.

The major problem once he's freed himself from the bed is that his legs are too wobbly, too weak, too terrified, to hold him up properly. He stumbles to the floor and muffles a curse when his hand connects with the bedside table and knocks his lamp to the floor with a crash that feels ear-splittingly loud in the quiet.

Except it's not really quiet.

His breath is still coming in heaving pants because his chest is painfully constricted. There's a tightness around his sternum that he desperately tries to rub away before he starts coughing and choking on phantom blood from years ago. He can feel tears streaking down his face as the clearer memories of the attack overlap with the blurry memories of the nightmare. He can feel his anxiety turning to terror and he struggles to his feet, groping around in the darkness until his hands hit the door.

He knows it's ridiculously late, or maybe ridiculously early, but he can't stay here and he needs to go somewhere else that's safe. Being alone in his room is the distinct opposite of safety. He'll never be able to sleep tonight in that bed in this state. He can barely even handle being in the room while the shadows mock him with memories of the attack.

The light in the corridors has been dimmed for the night time but he still squints against it. It feels too bright when his insides have turned into darkness. The warmth he usually feels at the wood-lined corridors doesn't exist when he's so cold that his teeth are chattering and he's trying to rub at his arms. He staggers past closed doors with dark strips beneath them, feeling guilty that so many people around him are fast asleep while he makes so much noise.

The walk to the door nine to the left of his has never felt so long. He slumps against the wall beside the door and raises his hands to knock haphazardly, not wanting to be too loud and wake everyone else up.

He waits, trembling, fully prepared to collapse to the floor if he needed to rather than returning to the terror awaiting him in his room. He's not sure he has the strength to make the return trip anyway. He knocks again, unsure if it's weaker or stronger than the first time because his nerves are jangling and he feels dizzy from the lack of calm breaths he's managing to draw past his lips and into the depths of his lungs. He's pretty sure he can hear the blood pounding louder and louder in his ears, almost like he's stuck in a washing machine, and it feels like he's-

The door swings open. A tall body clad in loose sweatpants and a well-worn, old Dalton t-shirt stands framed in front of him. An incredibly sleep-rumpled Sebastian squints against the low light, raising a hand to shield his eyes before they catch on him and widen.

"Blaine?" Sebastian's arms reach out before he pauses, rubbing one hand across his face in an attempt to wake up. A brief yawn lingers behind his cupped hand before he holds his arms open. "C'mere?"

Blaine doesn't hesitate, not when it's Sebastian, stumbling the couple of steps into outstretched arms because they're basically his salvation and even though he's jumpy about anyone else touching him at this time of year, he trusts Sebastian with every piece of his sanity. Large, familiar hands press against his shoulder blades and the small of his back, forearms tight against his sides, chest broad and solid for Blaine to rest his cheek against. He's too scared to focus on much but he does instinctively recognise the scent of musky cologne and coffee and whatever else it is which is just so _Sebastian_.

"Come with me," Sebastian says gently, unwrapping one arm to guide him into the room.

It's completely dark but he knows Sebastian's room as well as his own so it's not difficult to find the edge of the bed when he has a hand steering him towards it. The lamp gets flicked onto low and throws beams of light around, chasing the demons that lurk on the edges of his vision further into the shadows. Sebastian holds open the blankets and he tentatively crawls underneath, feeling embarrassed that he requires so much comforting after a nightmare when he's seventeen. He feels as though he should be more capable of calming himself down, but he's tried that – so many times – and he's never been able to get back to sleep unless he hyperventilates to the point of unconsciousness.

Sebastian cuddles against him and he rolls into the other's grasp fairly easily because his body is too strung out to protest the actions. His cheek finds Sebastian's shoulder, his hand resting against a faintly-defined abdomen, and the blankets are wrapped tightly around him along with strong arms. He can't help hooking his ankle around the calf of the other boy for security, ensuring they're completely anchored together and he's almost as close to Sebastian as he can get.

"Just focus on your breathing, B," Sebastian murmurs against his hair, one set of fingers tangling into his curls and helping to distract him from the pounding in his temples, behind his eyes, in his throat. "I won't let anything hurt you."

It helps to hear Sebastian's breathing and heartbeat, to use them as a way of grounding him and giving him a regular rhythm to match his breathing with. Throughout his painstakingly slow effort to calm down, Sebastian continues whispering things to him that might ordinarily have made him smile but now just leave him choking on small sobs. The terror gradually reduces to anxiety but it also manages to awaken old feelings of hysteria, of dying alone, of never getting help, and he remains caught between crying and hyperventilating.

"_Hey_," Sebastian says sharply, evidently realising he's not really calming down properly. A large hand cradles his cheek and raises his head until he sees a blurry face from the tears that fill his eyes. Even then, he can see the concern radiating from Sebastian's expression in front of him. "I'm here, Killer. You're safe now. I've got you."

He tries to store the words in a small section of his soul, secreting them away for another time, another place, when he'll have the same or similar nightmare and react in a similar way without having Sebastian to console his fear. Sebastian gazes at him, holding the stare, and whispers the words over and over until they're imprinted against his skin, until they're layered beneath his cheeks, until they're inhaled deep inside during his short snatches of air, until they pound through his bloodstream with every clench of his heart.

Sebastian is evidently satisfied enough with his improving breathing to break the eye contact and allow him to tuck his face against smooth, freckled skin. The mix of sweet and musky cologne has its strongest concentration here and he likes his nose curving into that spot perfectly when they're standing. He trembles until Sebastian cups one hand against the back of his neck, the other firm on his lower waist, protective and possessive, and he starts believing that he won't get harmed here. Sebastian would defend him against anything.

"Was it the same as always?" Sebastian asks quietly, his thumb constantly circling into the spot on the side of his neck that tends to make him melt into a floppy puddle. He can't quite manage loose-limbed at the moment but it does go a long way to relaxing him further and further, growing heavier against Sebastian's body.

He knows the answer to Sebastian's question is a yes, but he's not sure he can find his voice. He's not even sure if he has one after all the screaming he probably did in the loneliness of his room. It's probably little more than a rasp which he knows will upset Sebastian, so instead he dips his head in a small nod and feels the tight grip around him increase. Sebastian's lips brush against his temple, the briefest of touches that makes his racing heart falter for a moment in his chest.

"I won't let anything hurt you, babe," Sebastian says again and this time, he feels as though he believes it. This time, it helps thaw some of the panic ravaging his body. This time, it offers him enough comfort that he can suck in a breath that feels cool when it hits the bottom of his lungs. Sebastian's lips press against his forehead because the other boy knows how much he likes that sort of understated intimacy. It helps him relax, helps him feel safe, helps him feel warm with the fuzziness that fills his belly.

With enough time, with enough patient and unhurried touching of fingers against his skin, the terror fades from deep within his bones and leaves him exhausted as he loosely grasps at Sebastian's shirt. The boy in question cradles his cheek again, tilting away until he can Blaine's face.

"Will you try sleeping again if I keep you here?" Sebastian says, his thumb rubbing over the curve of Blaine's cheek. He tilts into the familiar warmth and nuzzles closer, his eyes fluttering shut with the image of Sebastian's amused smile imprinted on his vision.

He bites his lip at the thought of sleeping again, even if he remains within Sebastian's embrace. He opens his eyes and glances up at Sebastian. "I'm scared," he admits, his voice a hoarse whisper that cracks in the middle.

Sebastian's eyebrows twitch into a brief frown of concern at the broken sound of his voice, clear evidence of the tortured screams he'd made earlier, and bumps their noses together. "_Nothing's gonna harm you, not while I'm around_," he sings softly, his voice a low husk of what it usually is.

Blaine smiles faintly at the song from Sweeney Todd, remembering when they watched it and Sebastian complained at the quality of the singing. He leans up and presses a kiss to Sebastian's lips, who hums and nips at his bottom lip.

"I could exhaust you with pleasure," Sebastian teases and Blaine merely rolls his eyes and gives him a small push so he can lean over and switch off the light.

"Thank you," Blaine whispers after Sebastian has switched off the light and wrapped him up again in arms and legs and blankets and sheets. He knows Sebastian hears the layers embedded within those two words. _Thank you for calming me down. Thank you for always supporting me. Thank you for not pressuring me. Thank you for knowing what to do. Thank you for caring for me. Thank you for being here. When he'd first started sheltering with Sebastian last year, he'd apologised for being a wreck, being incapable of taking himself, being so needy and demanding at irregular hours of the night._

"You know you're always welcome here, babe," Sebastian says, perhaps pleased that Blaine no longer apologises. There's another kiss to his forehead that he leans into and when he does, he feels Sebastian's lips curve into a smile against his skin. "I'll keep you safe."

He can't deny that he's still afraid of the demons lurking in the darkness but Sebastian holds him close and is the light that keeps away the fear. Every time he starts to feel his nerves returning to the extent that they shake his limbs, Sebastian's arms tighten and his lips brush kisses to his face and it soothes him all over again. It reassures him and reminds him about why he struggled in his trek down the corridor to Sebastian's room, seeking refuge in the security offered.

He touches a kiss to Sebastian's neck before he wriggles and rolls over. Sebastian easily snuggles closer, slotting comfortably behind him and releasing a contented sigh against his hair. It's hard for Blaine not to smile as he laces one of his hands among Sebastian's.

"Love you," Sebastian whispers, nosing at his curls and squeezing his hand gently.

Something squirms happily in his belly at the words said so calmly. He squeezes Sebastian's hand and tries to focus on the feeling of the chest expanding against his back, offering him a way to keep his own breathing steady. "Love you too," he murmurs.

His boyfriend hums in satisfaction and he presses his lips together to fight the smile as he lays there and listens to and feels Sebastian's breathing against him. He can tell the moment that sleep consumes the body behind him, the way the tension in his hand fades and he snuffles soft snores against Blaine's ear, but he doesn't mind that Sebastian falls asleep. Sebastian's presence is enough and he knows he wouldn't want to be anywhere else.

He's not sure when he finally falls asleep himself. It takes him a while to unwind, a while to shake off the ghosts that haunt his memories and his dreams. Instead he thinks about how it's the second year that Sebastian has supported him through this traumatic time although last year it had been more about arriving at his door with coffee every morning and making him a playlist of comforting music to listen to at night. It was only later, when the fear surrounding that time of year had passed, that he realised the little things Sebastian had done spoke of a much deeper desire to care for him rather than just being an overly-flirtatious friend aiming to make him blush.

Since then, he'd never regretted his decision to catch Sebastian's wrist after a Warbler rehearsal. He'd never regretted the shy request for Sebastian to hang back a moment and watched the other boy stop with raised eyebrows while everyone had filtered out. He'd never regretted his decision to rise to his tiptoes and press a kiss to the corner of Sebastian's mouth, which had totally caused a soft squeak of surprise he still grinned about at random moments, before Sebastian had grabbed at him and kissed him hard enough to feel like he was falling and flying and being consumed.

The pleasant thoughts make it impossible to know when he finally falls asleep, but he'd never be able to do it if he was on his own and plagued by the lingering terror of his nightmares. His debt of gratitude expands and he's increasingly aware that he owes Sebastian more than he can ever repay, but he doesn't think such a demand will ever be made.

Well, apart from frequent requests for blowjobs…but he's not sure if he counts those.

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><p><strong><em>~FIN~<em>**


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